


disengage

by archons



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Banter, Emotional Constipation, Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archons/pseuds/archons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a vertibird ride back to Sanctuary Hills following a long mission, Danse offers to help Miles down onto the ground. How is someone supposed to react to a gentle hand when he's only known cruel ones? By being pensive and annoyed, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	disengage

**Author's Note:**

> I was prompted by a friend to write Miles and Danse holding hands. With bonus points if he's in his power armor. It was _supposed_ to be cute and fluffy, but Miles doesn't really do cute and fluffy. It IS fluffy, though!

After particularly difficult missions, Paladin Danse and Scribe Paxton were allowed to take one unarmed vertibird back to Sanctuary Hills for R&R. The  _unarmed_ part was mostly Miles's idea, not wanting to incite any incidents between the Brotherhood-faithful pilot and any of his synth companions on the ground.

Danse stood while Miles sat, bulging pack heavy in his lap and eyes surveying the orange-and-rose horizon. With every shift on the vertibird, aches made themselves known. Some where bruises; others, bandaged wounds from their mission to clear out a hive of supermutants. But he was too tired to wince, too tired for his breath to catch when a jerk of turbulence knocked his elbow against the side of the cockpit.

There was no getting used to field work. If he was younger, he might have relished being away from large groups of people for weeks at a time. He might have taken the opportunity to clear his head and come back stronger.

As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open, even with the vertibird's deafening rotor blades and the wind whistling past as they cut through the chilly late November air.

The ride itself was over before he could fall asleep, and his gratefulness for that knew no bounds. Crossing the Commonwealth in such a sorry state would only end poorly for him... and for Danse, who'd proven himself to be a patient companion about a dozen times over during their operation. He deserved better than to be blasted by coursers or pummeled to death by radioactive feral fists.

Just as soon as the landing skids touched down outside of the settlement, Danse hopped off and turned to offer his assistance. He reached into the cabin for Miles's pack, and when Miles opened his mouth to protest, he offered his hand again, most insistently. That got him the backpack and an annoyed laugh.

Leaning against the passenger's seat, Miles took a moment to regain is bearings. They were almost as scattered as the rest of him, strewn off in every direction, leaving his head fuzzy and his legs straining to stay upright.

Beside him, the pilot peered up from beneath her helmet. There was a smile in her voice when she spoke. “Thank you for your service, Scribe.”

“Thanks for the ride,” Miles replied.

When he looked back at Danse, the man stood there with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hand extended into the vertibird again. “It's a long step,” he told him, as if that explained why he was helping. To someone else, it might have.

Miles's brow furrowed. “I've taken it before.”

Danse only moved to spread the fingers of his hand, palm held upward and in Miles's direction.

“Just take my hand, Paxton.”

Even above the spin of the vertibird's blades, Miles heard his heart throb rather than flutter. He glanced through the large panes of glass at the front of the vehicle. Some of the settlers were gathering, curious to see what the Brotherhood of Steel was delivering so far into the Commonwealth, eager to break up their day-in and day-out.

An unpleasant unease settled in his stomach. He knew what would happen if he jumped out of the vertibird on his own. There was no way his legs would keep him upright. He'd stumble, even fall onto the grass. The question was whether he was willing to chance this to avoid the humiliation.

Turning to Danse again, Miles took a breath and reached out to him.

Danse's strength was obvious. He moved in his power armor like it weighed nothing. Out of it, he could lift objects heavier than he was. Anyone could see the width of his shoulders, the circumference of his arms. Discovering the warmth in a man's hands was another beast entirely.

Even through the thick weave of his gloves, Miles felt the heat of Danse's skin. Or maybe that was his own body reacting to the contact. Either way, he held on tight before taking the long step down out of the vertibird.

Steady ground felt foreign under his boots—foreign, but welcome. Miles took a deep breath and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. An ache pulsed in the small of his back, a spool of stress twined around his spine. The tired muscles in his legs caused him to dip slightly, but he refused to do any more than that.

Danse gave his hand a comforting squeeze, and Miles's fingers twitched anxiously in response. With the time to let go quickly approaching, he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The strangeness of the ground couldn't compare to the strangeness of that feeling.

“You did well,” Danse told him, voice just loud enough to be heard over the stalling vertibird. “Elder Maxson spoke highly of you during our debrief. He doesn't often—”

“You don't have to do this, Danse.”

The man's brow creased. “Do what?”

Miles pressed his lips together. He searched for the right words, the honest ones, and replied the moment he found them, chin tilted upwards to make up for their difference in height. “Hold on.”

Danse let go at that.

Even expecting that reaction, Miles felt his hand cool along with the rest of him the moment he did.

“I mean no disrespect in saying so, but... that isn't your decision.” Danse took one more look towards the vertibird before starting the short walk to Sanctuary.

Miles fell into stride beside him with some difficulty. He knew there was more that Danse wanted to say, and his inquisitive nature wouldn't let him rest if resting meant missing out on whatever it was.

Behind them, the vertibird lifted into the air and began its flight back to the Prydwen.

“I offered my hand to you.” Danse curled his hand around the backpack's strap to keep it secure, avoiding Miles's eyes and not trying to hide that fact. “I decide when I let go.”

Miles stopped in the middle of the half-broken bridge. Danse followed suit. He still wasn't done.

“Unless you want me to.” Danse chose his words carefully, and he spoke with a forced confidence that Miles could hear as clear as a familiar bell. “Do you want me to?”

Did he?

Around the bend, Sanctuary Hills lit up the quickly darkening sky. The settlers were still gathered, though the numbers were thinner than just before. Preston stood with MacCready on the two guard posts at the end of the road. Carla rubbed a hand between her brahmin's ears, no doubt waiting to put a cap value on whatever junk he'd brought with him.

Everything there continued like it always did, all while Danse waited for his response. Time never slowed down when he needed it to.

His hand twitched at his side.

“No,” Miles said suddenly, like an outburst rather than a response. Danse's brows rose in pleasant surprise, and he felt a heat rise on the nape of his neck, into his ears. “No, I don't want you to.”

“Are you—?”

“Would I lie to you?”

Danse hesitated before shaking his head. “You've never lied to me before. While your handle on the truth in shaky at best with everyone else, I seem to be the exception to that rule.”

Miles lifted a finger, mouth open and ready to shoot some quick line back at him, but Danse was right. Lying to him wasn't in the cards. That was a good thing rather than a bad one, and he needed to treat it that way. Eventually, when he got used to being even a little genuine.

“We should get back before it gets too dark out,” Danse offered. His cheeks twitched, betraying the smile he was fighting. “We both need our rest.”

After a moment, Miles sighed, struggling against a smile of his own.

“Tell me about it.”

 


End file.
